


Over Troubled Water

by LittleSammy



Series: With Benefits [3]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The case they are investigating on stirs up things in Ziva's past. And Tony notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Troubled Water

**Author's Note:**

> Follows "With Benefits", but whereas that story had nothing but sex in it... this one has anything but. (I did mention that my muses have a habit of doing weird things to me, yes?)
> 
> You don't need to have read the (graphic) prequel. All you need to know from the first story is that they had sex for 'tension relief', and that both are still under the delusion of being capable of keeping this at a "friends with benefits" level.
> 
> This is set during "Patriot Down" and deals with the issue of rape and a possible connection to Ziva's past. The theme is, however, just nudged and touched upon as gently as in the episode itself, and it leans much more towards hurt/comfort than angst.

They don't talk about it. They never do. 

He still knows exactly what's going on, from the moment he pulls her aside and tells her about Macy's case. He sees how her face goes blank and she guards herself very carefully after that, and he's not stupid, even though he sometimes likes to pretend he is.

She grows tense at his side while they drive the Petty Officer to the Yard. Ziva doesn't say a single word the whole time, but he sees her eyes flick to the rear view mirror every few minutes, watching the girl sitting in the backseat, just as quietly, just as stiffly.

She still doesn't say anything while they escort Burrows to interrogation, and his jaw wants to clench and his hands want to reach out for her. But she just looks at him and tilts her head, signaling that she wants to do this, that she wants to stick to the way they started this game, and his hand clenches into a fist for the second it takes to nod and agree.

He knows that in a way she needs this. That it is one of her fucked-up methods of facing her demons. But knowing that doesn't mean he has to like it.

*** *** ***

"Tell us what happened in France, Kaylen."

Her voice is soft, calm and under control. Her face is anything but. He sees her eyes, wide, filled with too much emotion, and she might be the right one for a victim to look at, but he can't stand it, can hardly bear to see her like this.

She's been there, too. If there were any doubts about it in his mind before, they are gone now, like wildlife after a bush fire. He has no idea if it was as blatantly obvious as Somalia or if it happened sometime else or, fuck, both of these options, and he doesn't really care. 

What he does care about is that this is one of the things that are eating her up inside and that she has chosen to hide it behind the mask of unflappability she shows them each and every morning. And it makes him wonder what else she hides and how close to breaking she actually is.

She glances his way and hands the questioning over to him when Kaylen blocks her, and once again she does that without a single word, trusting him to catch the drift. How is it that they can communicate so well in all things non-personal when they can't even talk about her leaving a toothbrush at his place?

He leans forward in his chair and does his part in the oh-so-gentle routine of good cop, bad cop they have chosen for this. He pokes and prods and carefully judges Kaylen's reactions, but the far greater part of his attention is still focused on Ziva's stiff shoulders and her slender hands, fingers interlocking and pressed tightly together so they won't show how badly she is shaking.

He sees the way her eyes fill with tears that won't spill, and when he walks over to stand behind her and face the Petty Officer, he has to shove his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for Ziva.

*** *** ***

He waits for her outside the ladies' room, leaning against the wall with his hands dug deep into his pockets again.

She's taking forever in there, and he starts getting fidgety, wants to follow her inside and just pull her into his arms and hold her until all is right again. But that isn't how things work between them, and it sure isn't something she would appreciate, so he keeps breathing and waits for her to come out and notice him.

It feels like an hour until she finally opens the door, and when she does, it hardly looks like she has cried. He only knows because... well, he just does.

Her eyes widen slightly when she sees him, holding silent vigil, and for a second that throws her, her newly found composure crumbling the tiniest bit. She takes a deep breath and pulls the door shut behind her.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and that isn't really what he wants to say, but it is the only thing he _can_ say, after all, because they have never allowed each other more.

She pulls her shoulders back at that, and her posture stiffens a bit. It takes some effort on her part, but she carefully slides her masks back into place and just nods at him.

He reaches for her when she turns to walk by him, and it is a half-hearted attempt he can't suppress; he still catches her hand, almost by accident, with his index finger hooking around her pinkie. It makes her freeze in mid-movement, and he watches how it makes her breath hitch in her throat.

"Ziva," he says quietly, and he has no idea what else to add because everything he could say is so glaringly obvious that it is also superfluous and painful and beyond right to say it out loud.

But she understands, again, and she turns to meet his gaze. He feels his own control slip when he sees her face, sees what's really going on inside her for the briefest of moments. The urge to just drag her over and pull her into his arms is stronger than ever, and from the way she looks at him, she knows that also.

And just when he thinks that the tension is too much to bear, something gives, and she tightens her hand and squeezes his finger once in reassurance.

"I will be," she says, and while she turns and lets go of his hand, she wipes at her face and the tear that has made it through her control.

*** *** ***

She's late for work, and that makes him think he shouldn't have let her go home alone last night after all.

He covers for her, mumbles something about a lead she is following when Gibbs asks, and as soon as the boss rushes out with McGee, Tony tries to call his partner for the seventh time while he grabs his backpack and heads out.

The elevator dings to a halt just as he presses the speed dial button, and he breathes a sigh of relief when the door opens and it's Ziva. He snaps his phone shut and pulls her right back into the elevator, explaining about the rich kid they have to check out.

He wants to say more, wants to, most importantly, yell at her for being absent and not telling him, but then she nods quietly, and he just stares at her, noticing the dark shadows under her eyes that are just tell-tale enough to speak of a sleepless night. He hasn't seen her like that in a while.

"Are you alright?" he says, and he wants to slap himself because she obviously isn't.

And sure enough, she tilts her head at the question, and her reply is very quiet and very honest for a change. "Not yet."

*** *** ***

When she finishes the call with Gibbs, he comes up behind her and gently steers her towards the car. She resists at first, and there are hints of anger showing in her gaze while she tries to walk by him and into the Hammonds' house. In the end, he has to do the last thing he wants to on this subject - he has to speak his mind.

"I don't want you inside with them," he says, and he sees her frown, sees the annoyance that he seems to believe that she won't be able to control herself, so he adds, "For your own sake, not theirs."

Her eyes widen, and for some reason he feels like this is the first time she realizes just how much he knows.

*** *** ***

"Well, you're a woman. What would you do?"

He wants to smack McGee, the big old boy scout, for the glaring innocence of his question.

Despite everything the Probie has seen over the years, he still doesn't get it. It's like he just blanks out the nasty stuff sometimes, at least when it concerns their own little dysfunctional family. It's like all the bad there is in the world happens outside of their small, protected circle for him.

Maybe that's his way of keeping sane, but pretending not to see has never worked for Tony, and so, of course, he is the one who sees how Ziva's back stiffens ever so slightly at the question. He finds himself on his feet and moving towards her while she answers the Probie's question. Her voice sounds different, vaguely dreamy, and for some reason he is sure that she never got to act on the urge she describes. That she never got to deliver the payback for her own violation.

He makes the quip that is expected of him, but it's just a distraction, meant to keep the attention from how he puts his hand to the small of her back for support. He feels the shudders that run through her in his fingertips, and when she turns her head to glance at him, once again the tiniest moment of openness and pain-filled truth happens between them.

She turns back toward the plasma, listening to McGee and trying to focus her attention on the case details. Despite that, he feels her lean back against his hand imperceptibly.

*** *** ***

He catches up with her halfway across the parking deck, and she turns her head to frown at him when he puts his arm around her shoulder, steering her towards his car.

"Tony," she says, and there is a tiredness in her voice that has nothing to do with lack of sleep. "I am not in the mood for sex."

He shrugs and drags her along. "And I have a headache," he replies with a quick, deflective smile. "Doesn't mean I can't tuck you in and read you a bedtime story."

She still frowns at him, but for some reason she no longer resists. And after a few more steps, she shakes her head and gives in. His heart starts pounding loudly when he feels her arm slip around his waist.

*** *** ***

He runs a bath for her because a shower doesn't cut it tonight, and while she's soaking in the tub, he makes her sandwiches. He works slowly, concentrating on slicing stuff and spreading butter, because it keeps his mind away from things, and so he is slightly surprised when she comes up beside him, wrapped in an oversized robe, her hair damp and curly. He hasn't noticed how much time he has spent on making the food look pretty.

"Thank you," she says, nodding at the sandwiches, and he flashes her a smile.

"Don't thank me, eat."

She hesitates, and he puts a sandwich into her hand, allowing no argument.

*** *** ***

He does get her to eat, and while they chatter about stuff that escapes his mind the moment they discuss it, he feels her relax eventually. It's not something he can put his finger on, he just knows, in that one moment when she smiles at him and it is finally genuine, not forced like it has been the last couple of days. Whatever it is, he knows after that she will sleep better tonight, and that's when he says goodnight, kisses her cheek and leaves.

He tries to, that is. 

Her hand stops him when he moves past her. Just one finger, hooking around his pinkie, but it roots him in place, just like that. He turns his head, looking at her over his shoulder, and she still stares ahead and doesn't meet his eyes. But she does keep her hold on his finger.

He turns to face her, leaning back against her cupboard, and she still doesn't look at him. So he tugs at her hand gently, pulling her towards him, like he has wanted to do all day.

She jumps slightly, but follows his lead, and when he wraps his arms around her, he is slightly stunned by how good that feels. And maybe she has read his thoughts because just then she breathes out and buries her face into his neck, and his heart starts pounding away. 

One of her hands rests on his hip, and when the other sneaks up his back, he feels confused, not sure what this is turning into. He returns the kiss when she presses her mouth to his out of reflex, and that clears up the confusion a bit, but it still isn't what he expected tonight.

She leans into him, and his body reacts lazily to her closeness, because this is Ziva, after all, and she's wearing only a bath robe, and they still have to catch up on five years of tension. But it's not one of those overwhelming moments when he can hardly think about anything else, and so he just keeps kissing her slowly, pushing her hair back and running his hand through it and down her neck. He feels her sigh and shudder ever so slightly, but not in the bad way, and so he runs his hand lower, down her back, resting it against the small of it to hold her close while he breaks the kiss to look at her.

"I thought you weren't in the mood," he teases her softly, and she smiles vaguely, moving her own hand up his back, her fingers flexing against his muscles.

"And I thought you had a headache."

He laughs at that, and she raises her chin to meet his gaze. This time, he doesn't get to see the fucked-up things and feelings that are threatening to eat her up. All he sees is that she is as tired as he is, and that she needs some more of that closeness he offers.

"This isn't about sex, right?" he asks quietly, and she tilts her head and actually thinks a bit about his question.

"No," she replies after a while. "Is that a problem?"

He has many possible answers to that. He wants to ask her if that is all she thinks he wants from her. Wants to tell her that if it were, he'd be already home watching a movie. Wants to offer whatever she needs, whatever makes her happy, and yes, it is a slight shock to him when he realizes that her happiness matters that much to him.

In the end, he finds that he can say none of these things, and so he just puts a hand to her cheek gently. She tenses up, and he wonders once again how she can invade other people's space like she does every day and still be thrown off track just as easily when someone touches her intimately in return. But just when he wants to open his mouth to say something useless after all, her irritation fades, and she relaxes again and turns her face into his touch, rubbing her cheek against his palm.

He feels like something is melting inside him at the way she does that, and he can't help but lean down and go back to kissing her. Her lips brush against his in a way that makes his heart skip a beat. She flows into his embrace easily, and her breath against his cheek comes a tiny bit faster, but that's about all that happens.

Except for the kissing. The slow, lazy exploration that never turns into something that is physically more than a sharing of space and a mingling of energies. She tastes incredible, and her lips are smooth and soft, and he just loves to slide his tongue over them and between them because kissing her feels so incredibly intimate that it makes his head spin every time. And yes, it turns him on, but tonight it doesn't come with the mind-numbing lust that sometimes distracts him from what's really important.

He doesn't know yet that they will keep doing that for more than an hour, just kissing, touching, holding each other and sharing breath. And he certainly has no idea yet that this night will be, in many ways, a lot better than sex.


End file.
